The Wounded Knight
by Scullspeare
Summary: A vampire hunt takes an unexpected twist, leaving Dean fighting for his life and Sam fighting for a way to save him. What he finds is a little outside-the-box – even for a Winchester.
1. Chapter 1

**SUMMARY**: _A vampire hunt takes an unexpected twist, leaving Dean fighting for his life and Sam fighting for a way to save him. What he finds is a little 'outside-the-box' – even for a Winchester. Set mid-season Two._

**RATING**: _T for mild language, some adult imagery_

**DISCLAIMER**: _Once again, I am borrowing the wonderful Winchesters, for fun – not profit, from Eric Kripke & Co to be the stars of this fic. I own only the SN DVD sets for Season One through Five._

**A/N**: _In the course of doing research for another fic, I tripped across a legend told in a classic folk song. It seemed to me a perfect fit for the Winchesters and became the basis for this story. More on the legend/song at the end of the fic so as not to spoil things. A great big thanks to __**Harrigan**__ for the speedy beta and her friendship. Both chapters are being posted simultaneously. I hope you enjoy._

**THE WOUNDED KNIGHT**

"Mr. Young, please. Your brother is in no condition to leave this hospital."

The doctor was almost jogging, trying to keep up with Sam's long strides as he pushed Dean's wheelchair down the corridor.

"Sorry, doc, but you heard Dean." Sam kept moving toward the exit. "You have the AMA papers. We-"

"This has nothing to do with malpractice, and everything to do with my patient." Dr. Emily O'Brien grabbed Sam by the arm, forcing him to stop and face her. "The virus is still active in his system. His blood volume is down and will keep dropping because his red blood cells are not reproducing the way they should. If we don't keep transfusing him-"

"It's my call, doc." Dean looked up from his wheelchair, his skin drained of any color, dark shadows underscoring his eyes. "You said yourself, you don't have a cure for this."

"That doesn't mean we can't find one." Dr. O'Brien, a tiny, attractive brunette, moved in front of Dean. "I've sent samples of the virus to the CDC, to the Poison Control Center, to the university research lab. There are more tests we can do here. It's way too soon to give up. We-"

"No." Dean motioned weakly for Sam to start moving again. "I'm not a lab rat. I'm done."

Sam glanced worriedly down at Dean, but steered the wheelchair around the doctor and resumed their trek to the exit.

Dr. O'Brien again fell in step beside them. "I can call a judge, have you declared a ward of the state. That would-"

"Just be a waste of everyone's time." Dean kept his gaze fixed on the exit. "We'll be across the state line before the ink's dry on the paperwork."

The hospital's glass doors opened automatically, and Sam pushed Dean outside to the Impala, which was parked at the curb. "Look, doc…" Sam pulled open the passenger side door and bent down to help Dean into the car. "If I thought it would help, I'd make him stay. Tie him to the bed if I had to." He ignored the look his brother shot him as he settled Dean into the passenger seat. "But odds are, your lab's not…not gonna come up with a cure in time to help him." His voice caught on the words, and he angrily shoved the empty wheelchair to the side. "So I'm… I'm following his wishes and I'm taking him home. I'm asking you to respect that."

Dr. O'Brien stared at Sam for a long moment, then turned to Dean while pulling a prescription pad and pen from her pocket. "Against my better judgment, I will – but don't think that means I won't keep working on this." She scribbled on the pad, ripped off the sheet, then pressed the folded piece of paper into Dean's hand. "That's my office number and my cell. You change your mind, you call me. I have your number. If we come up with _anything_-"

"Yeah." Dean curled his fingers around the piece of paper. "But thanks – you know, for giving it your best shot."

The doctor nodded but looked far from happy. She stepped back from the car, allowing Sam to close the door. He nodded his thanks, then moved quickly to the driver's side and slid behind the wheel.

With a twist of the key, the Impala's engine rumbled to life. Sam put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb; a glance in the rearview mirror showed the doctor shaking her head as she watched them drive away.

Sam shifted his attention to Dean, who shivered as he huddled against the door. "You sure about this?"

Dean forced a grin and waved the piece of paper at his brother. "I've still got it, Sammy. Even looking like crap, I can still get the hot chick's number."

"Dean."

"I'm sure." Dean dropped the paper on the seat. "You said it yourself, they can't fix this. The virus is supernatural. I don't care how many tests the doc does, she's not gonna find a cure."

"But I might, and Bobby's looking, too, and Ayelén." Sam's knuckles whitened as he squeezed the steering wheel, "But until we find…something, Doc O'Brien can keep giving you transfusions, replace the red-blood cells the virus is destroying."

"No." Dean's glare was weak but still made his point. "No more hospitals."

Sam slammed his fist into the wheel in frustration. "This…virus, it's not in the lore, it shouldn't exist. This shouldn't be happening to you."

"But it is." Dean shivered again and pulled his jacket more tightly around him. "Lore's just a game of telephone, and something got lost in transmission." He glanced out the window, watching the Impala eat up the blacktop. "Bottom line, I'm not gonna waste away in a hospital bed. I want a case of El Sol, I wanna watch Butch and Sundance. Then, if it comes down to it… if we can't find something to fix this… I'll eat a bullet. Go out on my terms."

"No." Sam shook his head. "No way."

"Yeah, Sammy." Dean was losing the battle to keep his eyes open. "My crap luck. My call."

"Well, it won't come to that. You..." All the fight went out of Sam when he saw his brother was asleep, head resting against the window, his arms still wrapped around his torso, pulling his jacket tight. Sam reached over and pressed his fingers against Dean's neck, but there was little reassurance from the slow but steady pulse.

Sam cranked up the heat, wishing he'd grabbed a blanket from the trunk for Dean, then turned his attention back to the road. He slammed his fist into the wheel again; this case had been jacked from the get-go. They'd come to town expecting a vampire fight and now Dean was dying from a virus that shouldn't even exist.

He glanced again at his brother and watched him sleep; pretty much what he'd done for the past three days. And as doctors ran every medical test at their disposal, he and Bobby had researched every supernatural means they could think of to neutralize the virus. So far, both camps had come up empty, but now…now Sam had a lead.

It was the reason he hadn't fought Dean too hard when his brother insisted on leaving the hospital. If what he'd found was legit, it just might be what they needed to cure Dean. Oh, it was crazy, buckets of crazy – Sam would be the first to admit that – and Dean was going to fight him on it, no question, but it just might be the answer.

Once back at the motel, he'd get Dean settled, check in with Bobby, then make a few more calls.

**xxxXXXxxx**

_**One week**__** earlier…**_

"I don't get it." Sam pulled the sheath from his machete and tossed it back in the car. "Three abandoned buildings, all perfect for a nest, but no sign of a vamp anywhere. What are we missing?"

"A nest of vamps, for starters." Dean slammed shut the trunk after grabbing his own machete. He pointed with it to the rust-covered warehouse in front of them. "Let's see what's behind Door Number Four."

The brothers had rolled into Hartford, Connecticut the previous night to investigate what appeared to be a series of vampire attacks. Five people were dead, each body drained of blood, each victim bearing fang marks. After scamming copies of the police reports and coroner files on each murder and noting the location of each crime scene, they'd defined the probable hunting ground and begun checking out potential nest sites. The abandoned printing plant in front of them fit the bill, but then so had each of the previous three buildings, all of which proved empty.

Sam picked the lock and slowly pulled open the door, wincing when the hinges groaned almost as loudly as the Impala's. Dean warily entered first, machete raised. Sam followed close behind.

Once he was sure the lobby was clear, Dean gestured for Sam to go left while he went right.

Sam nodded and moved off to the side. The lobby ran along the front of the warehouse, linking two long corridors which ran the length of the building on each side. Offices flanked each corridor, the two banks of offices framing the printing plant in the centre.

Sam crept along the wall, glanced over his shoulder to see that Dean was doing the same thing, then peered around the corner. The corridor was empty, the doors to the offices open, at least as far as he could see. He turned and signalled to Dean that the way appeared clear, receiving the same signal back. Dean then disappeared around the corner, and Sam did the same.

The first two offices Sam checked were empty but as he approached the third, he heard a strange, high-pitched whistling, soft at first, but growing increasingly louder as he neared the open doorway. He frowned; no vampire made a noise like that.

His hand was halfway to his pocket, reaching for his phone, when his vision blurred and dizziness almost toppled him. He dropped the machete and slumped against the doorjamb, the whistling filling his head. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to lift his hands to cover his ears but his arms stayed stubbornly, limply, at his sides.

He had to call Dean and warn him. Tell him… Sam lifted his head and peered into the darkness beyond the open doorway.

No…He had to go inside…see what was in there. He pushed himself off the wall and moved robotically into the room, the whistling controlling him, pulling him in.

He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the only illumination the spill from the security lights in the hallway behind him. The whistling in his head was now punctuated by a soft hissing, Sam scanned the shadows. His gaze jumped to the far corner when something moved. Whatever it was froze briefly then, still masked by shadow, moved toward him.

Sam's legs gave out without warning. He toppled backwards, hitting the wall at the side of the door and sliding down it. He landed on his ass, legs splayed out in front of him, arms falling limply to his sides.

The whistling and hissing stopped abruptly, Sam's harsh breathing the only sound breaking the sudden silence. He couldn't move, couldn't look away as the thing in the shadows came toward him. It slid through the shaft of light from the hall and Sam's breathing hitched as he got his first look: it was a massive snake.

It was as big as an anaconda, but jet black with a greyish-white underbelly and blood red eyes. Sam's breathing sped up as it slithered soundlessly closer, forked tongue testing the air. Its red eyes stayed locked on him, even as it reached his side, slid over his legs and reared up so its head was level with his.

Sam felt like his heart was about to punch its way out of his chest, but he couldn't move and the snake didn't, except for the occasional flick of its tongue. Then, in a blur of movement, it stretched open its mouth, the fangs in its upper and lower jaws lengthening, and dropped, burying those fangs into the exposed skin of Sam's forearm and biting down hard.

Sam screamed silently, his voice like his body, not his to control. There was momentary pain, pressure on his arm like it was being crushed in a vise and then rapidly increasing light-headedness. He stared at the snake, realization quickly turning to shock: it wasn't injecting him with poison – it was siphoning his blood.

The snake was the vampire they'd been hunting.

He wanted to pull it off him, he wanted to grab his machete and cut its head off but, still paralyzed by whatever the snake had done to him, he could only watch in morbid fascination as it fed.

Sam's gaze snapped upwards when a shadow loomed over him.

Dean appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and turned Sam's thoughts to action. His machete glinted in the security lights as he brought in down on the reptile's neck – but the blade didn't behead it; even with the force of Dean's fury, it just glanced off the snake's skin.

With a sound that was half scream, half piercing whistle, the snake ripped its attention, and fangs, from Sam and turned on Dean.

Dean stumbled backward, tossing aside the machete and yanking his gun from his waistband as the snake lunged at him. He then scrambled to the left, staying out of the snake's reach and pulling it away from Sam.

The snake froze abruptly after testing the air with its tongue.

_Take the shot. Take the shot__._ As much as Sam silently willed Dean to pull the trigger, he knew his brother wouldn't shoot until he was sure he wouldn't hit Sam in the process.

As Dean sidestepped slowly, getting into position for a clean shot, the snake suddenly morphed…into what, Sam wasn't sure, but its body began to shrink, wings unfolded from its back and its head elongated. It screamed as it launched itself into the air, and disappeared through a large hole in the ceiling, chased by three bullets from Dean's gun.

Dean kept his weapon trained on the snake's exit until he was sure it, or whatever it had become, wasn't coming back. Then, his attention quickly turned to his brother.

"Sammy?" He crouched down beside Sam, placing his gun on the floor, within easy reach. "Talk to me."

Sam wished he could. The snake's hypnotic paralysis was wearing off, but he just couldn't get his voice to work. He turned from Dean to stare at his right arm, the puncture marks jagged and torn after the snake had wrenched out his fangs to go after Dean. Blood ran heavily from the wound.

"I see it." Dean reached in his pocket for his flask of holy water, flashed an apologetic smile, then poured the water on the snake bite.

Sam's voice came back in an agonized yell, the holy water bubbling and frothing on his skin, his back arching and every muscle tensing as pain shot through him like an electrical current. It hit hard and fast, and then it was over. Sam slumped back against the wall, chest rising and falling rapidly, and nodded at Dean. "Thanks."

Dean pulled a kerchief from his pocket and quickly bound the wound on Sam's arm. "Hospital's not far. We'll have you there in no time. Just have to figure out what kind of poison we're dealing with."

"No poison…" Sam cleared his throat and blinked against a wave of dizziness. "It was…drinking my blood."

"Drinking…" Dean's eyes widened. "That thing was the vampire we're looking for?"

Sam shrugged. He'd had a front row seat, and he was having a hard time processing it, too.

"Son of a bitch." Dean pressed his fingers against Sam's neck, taking his pulse. "Doesn't mean there's no poison, though. Can you walk? Just to the front door, then I'll get the car."

Sam swallowed. "Yeah."

"Then let's get the hell outta here before that…thing comes back." Dean pulled Sam's arm over his shoulders, slid his arm around Sam's back and hauled him to his feet.

Sam closed his eyes while he found his equilibrium and felt Dean tighten his hold.

"Damn, Sammy. It drink you dry?"

Sam wanted to say he was fine, but he knew how heavily he was leaning on his brother, how tired he felt. He frowned as he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. "At the hospital - what the hell do say bit me?"

Dean guided Sam toward the door, and the Impala. "We say we don't know. And, for once, that's the god's honest truth."

**xxxXXXxxx**

Sam woke with a start. He still lay on a gurney in the treatment bay, curtains pulled around him for privacy. Two IVs were connected to his left arm, one in the back of his hand delivering fluids, the other at his elbow replenishing the blood the snake had taken. He was tired, but felt a hell of lot better than he did when Dean had first hauled him into the ER.

He frowned when he realized that Dean wasn't parked in the chair at the side of his bed, as he had been when Sam fell asleep, then jumped when the curtain at the bottom of the gurney was pulled back suddenly. Dr. Ben Kaplan, the ER physician assigned to Sam's case, smiled. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Feeling better?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Where's Dean – my brother?"

Dr. Kaplan, a sixty-something, grandfatherly type, moved to Sam's side. "After making me swear on my first-born grandchild that you were out of any danger, he said he had a couple of things to take care of, and to tell you he'd be back as soon as possible."

Sam smiled. That sounded like Dean. "When can I get out of here?"

Dr. Kaplan inflated the blood pressure cuff wrapped around Sam's right arm. After checking the reading, he nodded slowly. "Your pressure's rebounding nicely. Another hour or two, and we'll talk." He peeled back the bandage that covered the snake bite on Sam's arm and shook his head. "You were damn lucky it was a dry bite. Without knowing what kind of snake-"

"I know." Sam studied the bite mark; there were two large puncture wounds on the inside of his arm, two smaller holes on the outside of arm where the snake's lower fangs had locked on. "So there's no trace of poison?"

Dr. Kaplan shook his head as he reached for a clean bandage. "We got your blood work back from the lab; it's clean. There's some minor infection at the wound site, so we've put an antiobiotic in your IV as a precaution and given you a tetanus shot, but the wound itself should heal quickly." He looked up at Sam. "The main thing that concerns me, is why you lost so much blood relative to the size of the bite. There's no way your blood volume should have dropped so much, so quickly."

_Unless you're bitten by a vampire snake_. Sam shifted uncomfortably. He was pretty sure that explanation would get him a free pass to a rubber room. "It bled a lot after I was first bitten," he offered, lamely, "until Dean got there and bandaged it."

The doctor nodded, but didn't look reassured. "I'd like to run a few more tests, to make sure there's no underlying cause, unrelated to the bite."

Sam exhaled slowly, knowing the monitor to his left would broadcast any change in his heart rate, but the last thing he needed was an extended hospital stay while well-meaning doctors poked around for a cause they weren't going to find. "I don't think-"

"What's the problem?" Dean now stood at the open curtain of the treatment bay, frowning as he picked up on the agitation beneath Sam's calm façade.

Dr. Kaplan turned to Dean. "It's not a problem, per se, but your brother's blood loss is a concern. I'd like to be sure there isn't some cause for it, unrelated to the snake bite."

Dean offered his most reassuring smile as he moved to Sam's bedside. "Doc, I appreciate you being cautious but, the business we're in, the crap we deal with, regular physicals are a must. Sammy here had one less than two months ago. He's as healthy as a horse, or was until that snake bit him."

Dr. Kaplan checked Sam's chart. "You're exterminators?"

"Family business." Dean grinned. "Like they say, it's a dirty job, but somebody's gotta do it. Nobody like critters in their walls."

Dr. Kaplan frowned as he turned back to Sam. "You didn't recognize the snake? I'd have thought, in your line of work, that-"

"I didn't get a good look before it disappeared into the wall," Sam cut in with a shrug before turning to Dean. "But I don't think it was domestic…definitely not one we've ever run into."

"Chances are it's someone's exotic pet that either got away or was let go when it grew too big to handle." Dean handed Sam a large bottle of orange juice he'd brought with him, then looked over at the doctor. "Now, about my brother, here – you sure that snake didn't poison him?"

Dr. Kaplan made a notation on Sam's chart. "Yes. I'm concerned about why he lost so much blood, but there was no trace of poison in any of the tests we did. Still, I'd like to look into why-"

"What if I promise to go see my own doc when we get home? You know, for a check up." Sam looked hopefully at the doctor.

Dean reassuring smile returned. "And I'll happily kick his ass if he doesn't."

"Very well." Dr. Kaplan closed the chart and looked over his glasses at Sam. "You dodged a bullet so, if you're going to go after this snake, or any snake, again – don't tempt fate. Take whatever precautions you have to so-"

"We will." Sam nodded. "Thanks, Doc."

Dr. Kaplan replaced Sam's chart in the hanging folder on the end of his bed. "I'll be back in an hour for a final check up and then we can talk about getting you home." With a nod to Dean, he left the bay and pulled the curtain closed after him.

Sam uncapped the juice and took a long drink. "Where were you?"

Dean lowered himself into the chair at Sam's bedside. "The doc said you were out of danger so, while you were sleeping, I wanted to do some research to figure out what the hell it was that bit you."

"And…" Sam looked expectantly at his brother.

"And," Dean pulled a folded piece of paper from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Sam, "the little bastard is a Peuchen."

Sam quickly capped the bottle of juice, took the paper from Dean and unfolded it. It contained a picture of the creature and a brief description. "A blood-sucking, winged snake…" He looked up at Dean, "with shape-shifting abilities?"

Dean nodded as he sat back. "Apparently, it's a distant cousin of the chupacabra. It mesmerizes its victims into paralysis, then sucks them dry. But, if threatened, it can also shapeshift into just about any animal form."

Sam was still reading. "How'd you narrow it down to this thing?"

Dean feigned hurt. "You not the only one who can do research, you know." When Sam shot him a look, Dean grinned. "On the drive over here, when you were blathering on about the area where the vamp attacks had taken place, you said something about it being home to a large number of Chilean immigrants."

Sam frowned. "I didn't think you were listening."

Dean shrugged. "I wasn't, but for some reason, that bit stuck. Anyway, I started digging through Chilean lore, and there it was. I'm guessing the Peuchen hitched a ride with one of the immigrant families when they came to this country."

Sam looked again at the picture of the snake, and shuddered. He could still hear the strange whistling that had robbed him of control then paralyzed him, still see the Peuchen's huge eyes and the blood red gaze that-

"Sam!"

He jumped at his brother's voice. "I'm good." Sam cleared his throat. "So how do we get rid of it?"

"We need a machi, which is a shaman or medicine woman of the Malpuche tribe."

Sam snorted. "And just how the hell do we find one of those in Connecticut?"

Dean grinned. "Once again, little brother, you underestimate me. It's yin and yang. When evil's around, there's usually something to protect people from it. So…," he pointed to the bottle of juice he'd given Sam, "I stopped at this little bodega on the way back here, picked up that, and had a chat with the muy caliente senorita behind the counter."

Sam turned back to the information of the Peuchen. "Don't tell me - this hot chick, she's the, what did you call it, the machi?"

"No. But..." Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a receipt with writing scrawled on the back, "the Chilean community around here is apparently pretty tight. Everybody knows everybody. So, the lovely Isabella gave me the name of someone who _is_ a machi. I had Bobby check her out and looks like she's the real deal, so I have an appointment to see her this afternoon."

**xxxXXXxxx**

"Drink this." Ayelén Lloncon passed a small, ceramic cup to Sam. When he hesitated, she motioned again with the cup. "You must drink – to restore your strength."

Sam had been released from the hospital only a couple of hours earlier. Dean had wanted to drop him off at their motel while he met with the machi, but Sam had insisted on coming along. He was steady on his feet, but still pale and the climb to Senora Lloncon's fourth-story walk-up had sapped much of what little strength he'd recovered.

That fact did not go unnoticed by the machi. Even as the brothers introduced themselves, her dark eyes studied Sam and took in the bandage on his arm. She welcomed them into her small but tidy apartment and directed them to take a seat on a large couch covered in brightly coloured throws. She disappeared into an adjacent room, returning a few minutes later with the drink for Sam.

He shook his head. "Thank you, but I'm okay."

The small, fifty-something woman smiled. "You are wise to be cautious, but the Peuchen has left you weak. This tea will restore the balance."

The brothers both startled at her use of the word _Peuchen_. Dean hadn't mentioned the purpose of their visit.

Dean leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "How did you know about the Peuchen?"

Ayelén placed the cup on the table beside Sam, her attention still on him. "I smell him on you."

Dean snorted as he glanced over at Sam. "Told you you should've showered first."

"It's been many years since I last saw one," Ayelén moved to a chair opposite the couch and sat down, "but it's a scent I'll never forget."

Sam subconsciously ran his fingers over the bandage on his arm. "You knew it was here?"

Ayelén shrugged. "I suspected. I read in the papers of the deaths, of the victims drained of blood but, until I picked up its scent on you, I did not know for a fact." Again, she studied the two of them. "Certainly, it is not a suspect the police are seeking. How did you come to hunt it?"

"It's what we do." Dean sat back. "Course, we came to town expecting to find a two-legged vampire. Had no idea this thing existed 'til…," he glanced at his brother, "'til it went after Sammy."

Ayelén played with the beads of her long necklace. "It is a powerful creature. Its scales are like armour, will repel all but a silver blade. It mesmerizes its victims or those who would attack it, takes control so they are helpless… easy prey. And then it feeds." She turned to Sam. "But you know all this – too well, I fear."

"Yeah…" Sam felt sick, the memory of the Peuchen's attack still too fresh, but the nausea subsided when he focused on one thing the machi had said. "Except the part about the silver knife – that can kill it?"

Ayelén nodded. "There is an incantation to read first, other magic to neutralize its hypnotic powers, and to mask your presence, but yes – silver can kill it."

"That explains…" Sam turned to Dean. "I wondered why the Peuchen didn't go after you."

Dean shot him a look. "Gee, thanks, Sammy."

Sam shifted in his seat to face his brother. "What was the first thing we did when we rolled into the state yesterday?"

Dean frowned. "Stopped at that pawn shop."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, to pick up old silver jewelry to make into bullets. What'd you do with the jewelry?"

"Nothing." Dean reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag, full of broken necklaces and odd earrings – all made of sterling silver. "It's still…oh."

"Yeah. Snakes have an acute sense of smell. If the Peuchen could smell this," Sam tapped the bag of jewelry, "it wouldn't know what form the silver was in – it would just know that you had the means to kill it. That's why it changed into… whatever the hell that was, and took off."

Dean's knuckles whitened as he squeezed the bag of silver. "Okay, so I swap this for some silver bullets, then we launch Round Two." He turned to Ayelén. "How do we draw it out into the open so I can plug the son of bitch?"

Ayelén's gaze was locked on Dean, as if trying to decipher his many layers. "You have no fear of this creature."

Dean shrugged. "It almost killed Sam… did kill five other people. It's overdue a little payback."

"I see." The machi smiled and glanced over at Sam. "Despite his size, he is the little brother, no? Always yours to protect."

"We look out for each other," Sam cut in. "So, you'll help us…. with the incantation? With the magic?"

"Yes. But on one condition." Ayelén smiled at Sam's raised eyebrow, and gestured to the cup on the table beside him. "Drink that, and you'll have my help. You must be strong if we are to confront the Peuchen."

When Sam hesitated, Dean jumped in. "We have our own condition. Look, you seem like a nice lady and you come with good references, but we just met." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the flask of holy water. "Now, I want Sam better, too, so he'll drink up if you drink this."

Sam's eyes widened. "Dean…"

"No offense," Dean ignored Sam's protest and offered Ayelén the flask, "but we've been burned before by enemies posing as friends."

The machi's dark eyes showed no surprise, no anger. "I sense much betrayal in your lives, so..." She stood up, took the flask from Dean and took a long drink. After handing back the flask, she smiled at Sam. "See, my only motive is to see you recover your strength."

"And you do look like crap," Dean gave his brother an elbow in the ribs, "so down the hatch."

Sam shot Dean a look, but picked up the cup, forced a smile at Ayelén, and downed the contents in one go. His face crumpled in disgust as soon as he swallowed. "God!" His eyes were watering as he looked at the machi. "What the hell was in that?"

Ayelén chuckled. "You don't want to know, but the bad taste will fade quickly. Soon, you'll feel better. That, I promise." She took the cup from Sam. "Now, I shall find my book and, together, we shall take care of this Peuchen."

**xxxXXXxxx**

Ayelén nodded at Dean as she finished reading the incantation, raised her knife and slashed the inside of his forearm, allowing the blood to drip into the circle drawn on the floor.

They were back at the abandoned printing plant, in the office where Sam had been attacked, the machi believing the connection to the Peuchen would be strongest in the place it was last seen. She had drawn a series of symbols on the floor, scattered the contents of a small cloth bag over them, then read the summoning spell.

Blood was final ingredient. Sam had wanted to be the bait, citing unfinished business, but Dean had dismissed the offer outright. While Sam looked much better, thanks in part to Ayelén's tea, Dean knew the last thing his brother needed was more blood loss. So, Dean was the bait while Sam held the gun loaded with silver bullets.

Once Dean's arm was cut, Ayelén and Sam melted into the shadows, masked by magic, leaving Dean alone in the centre of the room.

He exhaled slowly, keeping his heart rate steady, as he scanned the office. There was still the hole in the ceiling where the Peuchen had disappeared after attacking Sam, there was the doorway to the hall and, unnoticed the first time they'd been in the room, three holes in the walls where neglect or four-legged tenants had eaten away at the drywall. The snake could enter through any of them.

Dean had been pacing inside the circle for more than fifteen minutes when he first heard the noise: a faint whistling, distant but growing louder.

Sam's whisper came from over Dean's right shoulder. "You okay? Still in control?"

Dean nodded, clenching and unclenching his fists and shifting his weight from one foot to the other just to be sure. "All limbs still working."

"Here." Sam couldn't quite mask the worry in his voice. "Take the silver knife – just as back up."

"Uh-uh." Dean kept scanning the space for any sign of the Peuchen. "If it _can_ smell silver, it won't come after me. Now shut up." He swallowed. "Just shoot the damn thing when it shows – and don't miss."

He spun around when the whistling seemed to get louder to his left, but there was nothing there. Then the noise intensified above him, originating from the hole in the ceiling. He took a step forward to peer up into that space, but the noise shifted to a hole in the wall down by his feet. "Son of a bitch."

Ayelén had warned them that the Peuchen may sense magic at work. Thanks to her incantations, it wouldn't be able to see her or Sam, wouldn't be able to control Dean, but it would be wary. She believed, however, that its hunger for blood would ultimately override any mistrust.

That belief proved sound when Dean picked up on a soft hiss through the whistling filling his head, and that hiss came from above him. His head snapped up, and he saw it – glowing red eyes staring down at him from the pitch black inside the hole.

"There you are, you little bastard." Dean slowly lifted his bloody arm. "Chow time. Come and get it."

But the Peuchen just maintained its hypnotic whistle, and kept its unblinking gaze locked on Dean. Neither of them moved.

How long the stare-down lasted, Dean wasn't sure but when the Peuchen attacked, it was with lightning-fast speed. It launched itself at Dean, fangs extended. Dean dove out of its reach, rolled to his feet and found himself staring right at the creature, the Peuchen rearing back to strike. It darted toward Dean just as Sam's shot rang out, the report deafening in the confined space.

Sam's aim was true, but the shot wasn't fatal. The Peuchen flipped twice with the force of the hit then, as it righted itself, wings extended from its back, and it began to morph.

Dean's heart rate sped up as the creature lifted off the ground: it knew it was in trouble and, like before, was making a run for it. He launched himself at it, grabbing it in mid-air, the Peuchen snapping at his arm as his hands locked onto it.

"Dean, down!"

Sam stepped from the shadows, gun raised, as Dean spun around and threw the creature against the wall. It hit hard and dropped.

Sam shifted his aim and fired three shots, all three hitting the target. The Peuchen screamed, its body jerking with each hit, and then it stilled.

Ayelén appeared suddenly beside Sam, reciting another incantation. As she finished, she pulled a silver, ceremonial dagger from a sheath on her belt and handed it to Dean. "Finish it."

Dean took the knife, dropped to one knee and drove the dagger through the base of the Peuchen's skull. The snake's body grayed and turned to dust.

Still breathing heavily, Dean pushed himself to his feet and smiled at Ayelén as he handed back her knife. "It's finished."

"Dean, it got you." Sam stowed his gun in his waistband and snapped on his flashlight to inspect the two jagged bites that now joined the ceremonial cut on his brother's arm.

Dean waved his hand dismissively. "It's not poisonous and it didn't have time to feed. I'm fine."

Sam snatched the small duffel from the corner of the room, and pulled out the bottle of holy water. "Why the hell didn't you just drop, give me a clean shot?"

"That – son of a bitch!" Dean swore as Sam poured holy water over the wound. "That thing was fast and morphing." He glanced over at Ayelén. "Would the silver bullet still work if it turned into…something else?"

The machi was gathering up her things. "You pose a good question. In whatever form it takes, it is still a Peuchen, but I have only ever known of it being killed in its natural form."

"Well, I wasn't taking chances. No damn way was there gonna be a Round Three with that thing." Dean looked on as Sam pulled a bandage from their field kit and quickly wrapped the bite. "I kept it in the room, you shot it. We're done." He shrugged. "That's worth a little scratch."

Ayelén looked from one brother to the other and nodded. "You are a good team."

"I dunno." Dean grinned. "There's been a few times I've wanted to put Sammy here on waivers. Ow!" He scowled at Sam who had pressed the tape onto the bandage with a little more force than necessary.

Ayelén shook her head. "Come. We will go to my place. I must make you some tea – to be sure you stay well."

Dean's face fell. "That crap…I mean, that tea you made Sam drink?"

Now it was Sam's turn to grin as he swung the duffel over his shoulder. "Come on, Dean. Don't be a baby." He clapped his brother on the back. "Besides, it only tastes bad…_really_ bad…for a minute."

"But…" Dean fell in step behind Sam and Ayelén as they walked back to the Impala. "I didn't lose much blood. Not like Sam. I'm fine. Really."

Ayelén smiled. "It's good to be sure. I will make you the tea."

"But…I…" Dean lowered his voice as he leaned toward Sam. "Seriously, just how bad was it?"

"On a scale of one to ten…" Sam tried, and failed, to keep a straight face. "Ninety-four."

**xxxXXXxxx**

_**Two Days Later…**_

Sam turned off his razor and tossed it into his shaving kit. After running a brush through his still wet hair, he grabbed his kit, pulled open the door and crossed the motel room.

He frowned when he saw that Dean was still sleeping. "Dude, wake up." He smacked Dean's feet with his kit as he passed the bed. "It's almost nine. Day's a-wasting."

Dean startled awake and groggily lifted his head off the pillow. "What?" He rolled onto his back, scrubbing a hand over his face as he squinted up at Sam. "Where are we?"

Sam dropped his kit into his duffel bag and shook his head. "Just outside Poughkeepsie. And, yes, I know you think it's a dumb name because…" His retort died when he got a good look at his brother. "Dean, you look like crap."

Dean tossed back the covers and sat up, pulling his legs over the side of the bed with a groan. "Good morning to you, too, jerk."

"No, seriously." His brother's skin was grey, the shadows under his eyes more like bruises. "What's going on with you?"

Dean shook his head and rubbed his chest. "Think I'm coming down with something." Scowling, he batted away Sam's hand as he tried to press it against his forehead to check his temperature. "Dude, personal space."

Sam's worried frown deepened when he took in the bloody bandage on Dean's arm. "When did you last change that? If it's infected, no wonder you-"

"It's clean." Dean stared at the wrapping that covered the snake bite. "I changed it last night. I do know how – hey!"

Sam grabbed Dean's arm, pulled the tape off the bandage and quickly unwound it, ignoring his brother's weak protests. "It's been two days since you were bitten. No way should it still be bleeding." His eyes widened when he saw the wound. "This isn't healing." He looked up at Dean. "How long have you known something's off?"

Dean's breathing was shallow and audible. "Since yesterday."

"Yester-" Sam was fighting to control his temper. "And you said nothing because…?"

"Because the damn Peuchen's not poisonous and this is just a scratch." Dean shrugged. "Maybe this is normal."

"Normal?" Sam rolled his eyes, and grabbed his phone. "That thing almost drained me dry and my bite mark is almost healed. _That_ is not normal."

Dean frowned. "Who you calling?"

"Ayelén." Sam scrolled through his address book. "She'll tell us if you bleeding out, looking like crap is _normal_. I'm guessing _no_."

"Sam-" Dean stood up, trying to grab the phone from his brother, then crumpled almost immediately, clutching his chest, his face twisted in pain. "God…

"Dean?" Sam tossed aside his phone and caught his brother in time to stop him from hitting the floor, then eased him down onto his bed. "Talk to me."

"My chest." Dean had one hand knuckled against his sternum, the other fisted in Sam's shirt as he started to wheeze. "Can't breathe."

"Forget Ayelén." Sam grabbed the car keys from the nightstand. "We're getting you to the hospital."

Dean shook his head. "Just give-"

"Shut up, Dean." Sam was scared. "The guy who's already had one heart attack before thirty doesn't get to fight me on this." His words were terse, but his hold on his brother gentle as he half-carried Dean toward the door. "We'll be there is five minutes. Just hold on."

_**Continued in Chapter Two…**_


	2. Chapter 2

**SUMMARY**: _A vampire hunt takes an unexpected twist, leaving Dean fighting for his life and Sam fighting for a way to save him. What he finds is a little outside-the-box – even for a Winchester. Set mid-season Two._

**RATING**: _T for mild language, some adult imagery_

**DISCLAIMER**: _Once again, I am borrowing the wonderful Winchesters, for fun – not profit, from Eric Kripke & Co to be the stars of this fic. I own only the SN DVD sets for Season One through Five._

**A/N**: _The legend behind this story was told in a classic folk song, but it seemed to me a perfect fit for the Winchesters and became the basis for this story. More on the legend at the end of the fic so as not to spoil things. A great big thanks to **Harrigan** for the speedy beta and her friendship. I hope you enjoy._

**THE WOUNDED KNIGHT - ****CHAPTER TWO**

Sam paced beside Dean's gurney as his brother slept. A blanket covered Dean up to his waist, and his chest was bare except for the spider web of wires connecting him to a heart monitor. A blood pressure cuff encircled his right arm and a pulse-oximeter was clipped to his finger. He was receiving oxygen via a canula and blood and fluids via IV. A fresh bandage covered the Peuchen bite but it was already spotted with blood.

"Sam, stop." Dean rolled his head across the pillow as he woke up. He sounded tired, but his breathing wasn't tight the way it had been back at the motel. "Your pacing's driving me nuts."

"Well, you lying there hooked up to all that crap isn't doing my mental health any favors," Sam snapped. He stopped pacing and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sorry. I'm just…worried. How you feeling?"

Dean licked his lips. "Thirsty."

Sam poured water into a plastic cup, then passed it to Dean. "I haven't seen your doctor since they brought you back here. What do you know?"

Dean took a drink then flashed a weak smile. "My doctor is way hotter than your doctor."

"Dean-" At that moment, the curtain was pulled back and Dr. Emily O'Brien stepped into the treatment bay. "Doc, Dean's been in here for almost four hours and nobody's told me a thing. What's going on with him?"

The doctor moved to Dean's side, on the opposite side of the gurney to Sam. "He's stabilized, but we have more tests to do before we isolate the cause."

Dean's eyes slid shut. "Awesome."

Sam swallowed as he again scanned all the monitoring equipment. "So…it was a heart attack?"

Dr. O'Brien checked the readings on the monitor. "The chest pain, the shortness of breath are both connected to the anaemia."

Sam's knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on the gurney railing. "Anaemia?"

The doctor frowned at Dean. "You didn't tell your brother?"

"I was getting there." Dean looked up at Sam. "Tried to lighten things up first, but Sammy has no sense of humour." He winked. "But I was right, wasn't I?"

Sam ignored him. "Doctor?"

Dr. O'Brien turned to Sam. "Your brother's red cell count is dangerously low. Red blood cells are the oxygen carriers, and low oxygen levels in the vital organs, if left untreated, means they shut down. That can lead to a heart attack. Dean was in the preliminary stage of a cardiac event when you brought him in."

Sam blanched. "And now?"

The doctor offered a reassuring smile. "He's on oxygen and the transfusion has boosted his red cell count to stabilize him. We'll keep monitoring him while we run further tests to isolate the cause of the anaemia."

Sam felt sick. "What are the possibilities?"

"I don't like to speculate, but we did find something in the blood samples we took. We thought at first it may be a toxin, related to the snake bite, but our lab tells us it's a virus. They're working to identify it now."

Sam was staring at the bandage on Dean's arm. "This virus – could he have picked it up through the bite?"

"We're not ruling out anything at his point. Once the lab IDs it, we'll know how to proceed." Dr. O'Brien gave Dean's shoulder a squeeze. "We're going to move you up to the CICU, keep you as comfortable as we can until we get some answers. I'll let you know as soon as the results come from the lab. In the mean time, try to get some rest." She glanced over at Sam. "That goes for you to. The best way to help your brother is by looking after yourself." She smiled and left the bay, pulling the curtain after her.

Sam's jaw clenched. "No bullshit, Dean. Were you feeling tired…rundown…anything, _before_ the Peuchen bit you?"

"No. No more than usual." Dean scrubbed a hand down his face, knocking off the oxygen canula. "But how could I pick up a virus from a snake?"

"Damned if I know." Sam moved in quickly to replace the canula under Dean's nose, looping the tubing behind his ears. He lowered his voice. "But the Peuchen feeds on blood. This… virus, it's feeding on red blood cells. No way that's a coincidence."

Dean was silent for a moment as he considered that possibility. "Okay then. If the cause is supernatural, if the Peuchen did this, no lab test is gonna find a way to fix me." He reached up to pull off the oxygen canula. "Get me out of here. We'll find a cure ourselves."

"No." Sam batted Dean's hand away from the oxygen tubing. "Leave that. Even if the Peuchen caused this, the effects are physical. What the docs are doing is at least making sure you don't get worse." His voice softened. "Let them do that, please, while I dig around, see what I can find."

"I don't wanna be here, Sammy." Dean's eyes widened as he forced them open, fighting the exhaustion that was threatening to pull consciousness from him.

"I know." Sam forced a smile. "But it's the safest place for you while we figure this out."

"Son of a bitch." Dean's eyes were closed now. "Don't want doctors…poking and prodding…looking for something…something that… doesn't even…" His voice trailed off as he fell asleep.

Sam's smile disappeared, his fears for Dean now on full view

Hunting beat the crap out of them on a regular basis, and they'd each spent more time taking care of an injured brother than they cared to admit. A motel room fix-up was often messy but rarely life-threatening. A hospital visit, though – that meant it was something beyond their skill set, something they needed doctors to step in and take care of. And that would never fail to scare Sam.

He thought back to the last time Dean was hospitalized, after the semi had slammed into the Impala. When Sam had finally been released, and they'd let him go to Dean's room, the helplessness at seeing his brother comatose and attached to all that machinery had made him physically sick.

His stomach was churning now. But if the virus was supernatural in origin, the doctors wouldn't be able to help Dean – not with traditional medicine. They could treat the symptoms, but they couldn't cure him.

That would be up to him. He could recruit Bobby and Ayelén to help, but it could take time and Dean was already making noise about wanting out of the hospital. Sam moved to the bottom of the bed and pulled out Dean's chart. He listened to make sure no doctors or nurses were approaching, then used his phone to snap photos of the charts. He'd stock up on blood, IV fluids and whatever else doctors were giving Dean. If his brother insisted on leaving, he could continue the stop-gap treatment until they found something permanent.

After replacing the chart, Sam tucked his phone into his pocket and moved back to Dean's side. "You hang in there, you hear me?" He tapped his fist against the bed rails as he looked down at his sleeping brother. "One way or another, we'll find a way to beat this."

**xxxXXXxxx**

"Ow." Dean woke with a start, and flinched at a sharp sting in his arm. "What-" He rubbed his eyes and squinted up at his brother, who sat at his side. "Sam? What the hell?"

Sam kept working. "You won't stay in the hospital, so the hospital's coming to you." He taped in place the IV line he'd just inserted into Dean's arm, the tubing attached to a bag of blood hanging from a pole at the side of the bed.

As Sam fussed with the IV, Dean glanced around. They were still in the Pikesville, Maryland motel room they'd checked into after they left the hospital in Poughkeepsie, Sam taking them two states over in case Dr. O'Brien made good on her threat to make him a ward of New York State. He was lying in bed, propped up by enough pillows that he was almost sitting up which made breathing easier. He had a vague recollection of Sam helping him from the car to the room, but nothing about how he ended up in bed or how long he'd been there. On the table by the window, there was a red and white cooler, with a red cross in a white circle on the front. "Robbing hospitals now?"

"Only when I have to." Sam dug inside the duffel at his feet and pulled out a canister of oxygen, which he placed on the bed, pressing the mask attached to it into Dean's hand. "Use that when you need it."

"Sam…" Dean dropped the mask on the bed. "What are you doing? All this…it's not changing anything. It's just prolonging-"

"Prolonging gives us time, and time is what we needed to find something to help you." Sam looked up at Dean. "And I've got something."

Dean's expression was a mix of surprise and suspicion. "What?"

"I found it while you were still in the hospital, but I wanted to do more digging before I said anything. Make sure it's kosher." Sam handed Dean a bottle of water and motioned for him to drink. "As near as we can figure, because the Peuchen was morphing when it bit you, the effects of its bite morphed, too. Whatever infection got in through the wound took on the characteristics of the host – the snake consumes blood so now the virus does, too."

Dean drank some water, then recapped the bottle. "That gives us the why I'm in this mess, but I still don't hear a fix. If I've got some mutant virus, how do we kill it?" He watched Sam chew on his bottom lip and rub his palms on his thighs, both telltale signs he was nervous. "Sam – what've you got?"

Sam exhaled slowly. "We've tried traditional medicine, all the teas and tonics Ayelén could think of, the incantation Bobby found… We-"

"Sam!" Dean's breathing was labored. "I know what didn't work – I was there. Now if you've found something, it's either really bad or Section Eight crazy 'cause you're dancing around it like your shorts are on fire. Which is it?"

Sam swallowed. "It's not…_bad_."

"Okay, then. Crazy it is." Dean twisted and untwisted the cap on his bottle of water as he waited to catch his breath. "So, we talking dancing naked, burying me in an anthill, drinking-"

"There's a witch."

"Wit-" Dean dropped the bottle of water on the bed. "No. No way, Sam. I-"

"She's a good witch."

Dean snorted, which started him coughing. "That's an oxymoron if I ever heard one."

"No it isn't." Sam grabbed the oxygen cylinder and opened the valve. "Technically, Ayelén is a witch… So is Missouri, if you think about it. There are stories around here about this witch helping people, deserving people, for more than two hundred years." He picked up the mask and moved to press it over Dean's face.

"Two hundred…" Dean snatched the mask from Sam, took two deep inhales, then let the mask fall into his lap. "Get me my gun, Sammy, and pray I shoot myself before I shoot you."

"Don't even joke. Look…" Sam exhaled softly. "Hear me out. It sounds crazy, I know, but, in addition to the lore, I've found three people who swear she's legit, say she's helped them or members of their families – and that's just in a few days of digging. I've been looking through the county archives, too. There are more references there. Okay, they're more vague but they go back decades."

Dean tapped his fist on the bed as he took in Sam's pleading expression. "I know I'm gonna regret this, but I'm listening."

Sam nodded in relief. "When I could find nothing in Peuchen lore or Malpuche shamanism to fix this, I had to think outside the box. I started looking into what other cultures had settled this part of the U.S., if there might be something there to pull from. When I started looking into Celtic and Scottish lore-"

"Scottish?" Dean smiled weakly as he dropped his head back on the pillows. "Please tell me the cure involves me drinking Scotch."

Sam shot him a look. "There's no Scotch."

"God, it's not that sheep's stomach thing they pipe in when-"

"Dean, stop!" Sam's eyes were glistening as he glared at his brother, his chest heaving as he fought to control his emotions. "We both know we can't keep transfusing you indefinitely. Doctors can't help you. Ayelén, Bobby, me…we can't help you. I think this witch can." He gave a small shrug. "What have you got to lose?"

"Me? Nothing. But the last time you pulled a miracle out of your ass to save mine, an innocent kid died." Dean rubbed his chest. He was feeling a lot like he did after being electrocuted while hunting the rawhead. Sam had taken him to see Roy LeGrange in good faith, but when he'd had been saved, the reaper had taken Marshall Hall's life in his place. "How do we know she's not working the same deal? I get saved, someone else dies."

"Because I did my homework." Sam's leg was bouncing with nervous tension. "Back then, I didn't know. But now, with this white witch, it isn't about souls or reapers, Dean. She just has the gift of healing."

Dean was still having a hard time buying it. "But you had to dig to find out about her. If she's so good, if she's legit, why isn't she plastered all over the eleven o'clock news? Why aren't there lines around the block to see her? People were pushing wheelchairs through a freaking mudfield to see Roy LeGrange."

"Because…" Sam's leg was still bouncing. "She's tough to find…and kinda picky about who she helps. She…"

"Sammy, I'm tired." Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "The last time you were like this, you were seventeen and trying to tell me you'd backed the Impala into a tree. Let's start with the 'she's picky' part."

Sam pushed himself off the bed and started pacing. "You don't have a problem there. She'll help you. See, she… she has a soft spot for knights, for saving brave men wounded in the field."

"Knights?" Dean frowned. "You said she was two hundred years old, and I'm still wrestling with that part, but weren't knights a little before her time?"

Sam shook his head. "No. The stories suggest she came to this country around two hundred years ago, around the time a second wave of English and Scottish immigrants were settling around Chesapeake Bay. In Scotland, the legend goes back centuries, to before medieval times."

Dean screwed his eyes closed when the room started spinning. He snapped them open again when Sam sat down beside him suddenly, the bed sinking under his weight.

Sam grabbed the oxygen mask and pressed it to Dean's face. "Breathe deep."

Dean did, and the spinning room gradually slowed, then stopped. He nodded at Sam, pushing his hand away and holding the mask himself.

"Better?"

Dean nodded. "I'm no knight, Sammy. We fight the bad guys but you know as well as I do that between black and white, there's helluva lot of gray – and we've been camped out in the dark side of gray most of our lives."

Sam sat back. "One of the guys I spoke to, his dad was in Desert Storm – came back pretty screwed up. There were some missions that went bad because of faulty intel. Civilians were killed, some members of his unit…She helped him get his head straight, put his life back together. Another guy grew up in L.A., ran with gangs out there, got messed up on drugs. Came to family here on the east coast to get away from it, get straight. The witch helped him, told him his quest was just beginning. Now he's back in California helping others get out of the life."

Sam's voice was quiet. "That's what we do, Dean. We help others. You're as much a knight as they are, given the number of times you've thrown yourself in front of bus to save my ass, or Dad's, or Bobby's, or some stranger's. You said once we don't get thanked…but we make a difference."

"Yeah." Dean rubbed his eyes tiredly. "The world's a slightly less crappy place thanks to us."

"Dean, come on. We-"

"You said she was tough to find." Dean squinted up at Sam. "Where's she supposed to be?"

Sam's knee was bouncing again. "Calvert County, Maryland. Near a place called Parker's Creek. "

Dean snorted. "Let me guess – in a little cabin in the middle of nowhere."

"Not exactly." Sam cleared his throat. "She lives in a marsh…in the water."

Dean frowned. "Like on a boat?"

"No." Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. "_In_ the water."

Dean's eyes widened. "_In_ the… Like a freaking mermaid?"

"She's not a mermaid." Sam stood up and started pacing again. "Look, I know this all sounds batshit crazy, but so does ninety-nine per cent of the stuff we go up against. If we started telling people that wendigos and demons were real, we'd be in a rubber room inside of a week."

"I know…but _in_ the water? Really?" Dean rolled his head across the pillow. "What's she supposed to look like?"

Sam stopped pacing, and shrugged hopefully. "The stories say she's… hot."

Dean's eyebrow quirked. "Like Daryl Hannah in Splash hot?"

"She's not a mermaid, Dean, and they didn't get into specifics." Sam sank down on the bed. "So, you'll give it a try? We can go find her?"

Dean stared a Sam for a moment, saying nothing, then let his eyes slide shut. "What the hell. Let's go hunt a mermaid."

**xxxXXXxxx**

"Where the hell is it?"

Sam risked another glance at the odometer, then resumed scanning the treeline to his left. _Drive seven miles along the old salt marsh road. Look for a barred_ _gate, then take that sideroad. That'll take you to her marsh. _ He'd driven seven miles – 7.2 to be exact – but there was no gate, no sideroad, nothing.

A soft groan from the passenger seat pulled his attention from his search. "Dean?" His brother had slept for most of the trip to Parker's Creek. Sam had rigged up an IV pole for the car so he could keep transfusing Dean while they drove. If they were going to do this…if Dean was going to do this, they needed to keep fighting the virus, fighting the anaemia as long as possible. "You awake?"

Dean squinted against the sun, low in the sky to the left, but nodded. "Yeah. We there yet?"

"Almost." Sam gestured with his left hand. "There's supposed to be an old gated sideroad around here somewhere."

Dean pushed himself up in the seat, yawned, and pointed just up ahead. "Like that one."

Sam did a double take when saw it. He would have sworn it hadn't been there just moments earlier. "Yeah. Just like that one. Maybe it takes the one in need of her help to see it." He shrugged at Dean's WTF expression. "We've found the front door - that's a good sign."

He braked, and made the left turn, pulling to a stop just in front of the wide gate. "Be right back." The gate was kept closed with a simple rope lashed to one bar and then looped over the gate post. Sam unhooked the rope, walked the gate open and quickly returned to the car.

As he slid behind the wheel, Dean was staring at the rough path ahead. Under no definition could it be called a road. It twisted through the dense bush, running parallel to a narrow brook on the right and then began climbing at a fairly steep angle. The top of the hill was lost in the tree canopy.

"We get stuck, you're digging us out." Dean shivered. "And washing every speck of mud off my baby when we get back."

For the first time since Dean had gotten sick, Sam smiled. _When we get back_. Despite his protests, his refusal to believe that the witch could heal him, a part of Dean was hanging on to some thread of hope.

Dean scowled when he caught Sam smiling. "What?"

"Nothing. But we get you through this…_when_ we get you through this, I'll detail the Impala, inside and out, _and_ pick up the tab for dinner."

Dean rolled his eyes. "If I was a chick, I'd say you were looking to get laid."

"Shut up." Sam was about to slide the car into gear when he noticed some tall, yellow flowers growing amidst the thick ferns by the brook. "Hold on." He left the car, pulled up some of the flowers, and tossed them into Dean's lap as he climbed back in."

Dean scowled at the flowers as Sam started driving along the path. "You cheap bastard. These are weeds. What kind of date do you-"

"It's goldenrod. We need it." Sam gunned the engine, building up speed to tackle the steep climb ahead while fighting to maintain control of the Chevy on the pothole-ridden path. "Lore says you drop it in the water to summon the witch."

Dean looked at Sam incredulously. "I take my goldenrod and drop it in her lake?" He snorted. "Nothing Freudian there."

"I don't make up this crap." Sam's grip on the wheel tightened. "I'm just doing what I have to…so she'll help you." The Impala's engine growled loudly as she began climbing the hill. Sam had the accelerator to the floor as he turned the wheel quickly left and right, allowing the wheels to maintain traction while they climbed upwards. It was a full ten minutes before the road levelled out between hills that rose on each side and seemed to head straight for the setting sun.

Sam adjusted his grip quickly when the path took a sudden downturn at a steep pitch, then began switchbacking through the trees. "You might wanna hang onto something."

"One step ahead of you." Dean had one hand locked on the door handle, the other against the dashboard, bracing himself as the road threw the two of them around inside the car.

The path swung to the left, then the right, the forest cover getting thicker as they went. The trees on each side of the path were tall enough that their branches met in the middle, forming a living canopy that filtered the setting sun as it turned from gold to red.

After twenty minutes or so of zig-zagging through the trees, the path widened and then came to an abrupt end as they broke from the forest cover onto the banks of a salt marsh. Sam slipped the car into park, turned off the engine and glanced around. The marsh was a winding ribbon of water that stretched out in front of them, forming a long inlet between the hills that rose up on either side and behind them. Tall cord grass lined the shores of the marsh as it wound its way to the Atlantic, which lay beyond a distant bend. There were no signs of civilization anywhere.

Dean was looking around, too. "Now what?"

Sam gave a small shrug. "We wait 'til the sun goes down. 'Til then, get some rest."

"Right. She only comes out at night." Dean shivered, then slid down in his seat, dropping his head onto the seat back. "Better not be because she's too fugly to be seen in daylight."

Sam shifted in his seat to face Dean. "She's supposed to be hot, remember?"

"A lot of people look hot in the dark. But turn on the lights and..." He shuddered.

"Dean."

"Whatever. Remind me again how this goes down."

Sam looked through the windshield to the steep, sandy bank which sloped from the end of the path to the water's edge. "Once the moon's out, you walk down to the water and throw in the goldenrod. Then, you wait. If she's willing to help, you'll see her. If she doesn't show before sunrise…

"She's decided I'm not worthy." Dean glanced over at Sam. "If she doesn't show-"

"She will."

"But if she doesn't… this is it. We're not trying anything else."

"But-"

"But nothing. I meant what I said at the hospital. I'm done." Dean looked out at the marsh. "I can't believe I let you talk me into this. I mean, you've come up with some bat shit-crazy stuff before, but this…"

"It'll work." Sam reached for the now-empty bag of blood hanging from the jury-rigged IV stand. "We have time for another transfusion before-"

"No. No more."

"Dean, come on." Sam grabbed his brother's arm to get Dean to face him. "The lore says you've gotta summon her by yourself. I can't help you. You need to be as strong as possible, so-"

"No." Dean pulled his arm from Sam's hold as he started to protest and began pulling off the tape that held the IV line in place. "I said, no."

Sam's jaw clenched. "Look, we've still got another three hours before it's dark. In case you've forgotten, you barely made it from the motel room to the car, wouldn't have without me holding you up, so-"

"I'm sitting down, Sam, not running a marathon." Dean winced as he pulled the IV needle from his arm. "I'll make it just fine." He cast a glance out the window, taking in the steep bank that led to the water. "Besides, it's all downhill. I fall, I just keep rolling, right to where I need to be."

"Not funny." Sam took the needle from Dean, coiled up the tubing and dropped it into the back seat."

"Look…" Dean turned to face Sam, his expression serious. "This is a Hail Mary, plain and simple. If it works, amen. If it doesn't…you did all you could. So no moping, or hand-wringing or-"

"Dean, shut up and get some sleep." Sam pulled a blanket from the back seat and unfolded it over his brother. "I'll wake you when it's time."

Dean batted away Sam's hand, letting the blanket fall into his lap. "Stop being a grandma."

Sam raised his hands in surrender and sat back, watching as Dean quickly fell asleep.

As Dean's eyes closed, Sam's confidence crumbled. Were they doing the right thing?

He mentally sorted through his research, making sure there was nothing he'd missed. Everything he'd read suggested the witch was the real deal, with the people he'd spoken to backing up the written accounts. Those she'd helped seemed fine – there were no deals with the devil he could find, no promises to sacrifice first-borns, literally or figuratively.

He could understand Dean's skepticism. Hell, if the situation was reversed, he'd be bitching just a loudly, if not louder. But this, this was all they had.

He stared at his sleeping brother, thinking about Dean questioning whether the witch would save him. Why was it so hard for him to see what others did? He'd played the smartass tough guy for too long, that's why, confusing the role he played with the man inside that emotional armour.

Sam had learned long ago to see through Dean's defences. As kids, when there wasn't enough food, Dean did without so Sam could eat, dismissing any protests with a curt, "I'm not hungry," or, "I don't eat that crap." When Sam was scared or unsettled by another move and another school, Dean told him stories about good triumphing over evil – although as Dean remembered it, he was just reading his comics aloud. When he had nightmares about Jess, Sam would wake in a cold sweat. Dean would already be up, fetching him a bottle of water from the cooler and delivering it with a gruff, 'Couldn't sleep either. Wanna watch a movie, maybe play some poker?' He'd let Sam decide if he wanted to talk about the nightmare, distracting him when he didn't, listening when he did.

Bobby, Ellen…they never bought into Dean's bull. The people they helped, kids especially, saw through it easily – Lucas who Dean had saved from the vengeful spirit in Lake Manitoc, or Jenny's daughter Sari in their old home in Lawrence…They responded to Dean because they saw the man he fought so hard to hide.

Sam smiled. _That_ was the man the witch would help.

xxxXXXxxx

"Dean. It's time."

Dean startled awake with the gentle shake of his shoulder. The last thing he wanted to do was wake up, until he remembered that his clock was ticking. He stretched and rubbed his eyes as he sat up. "Guess there'll be plenty of time to sleep if this doesn't work."

"It'll work." The passenger door of the Impala was open and Sam was crouched next to him in the open doorway, pulling the blanket from Dean's lap.

"Yeah, yeah." Dean shivered as the wind picked up, blowing through the car. He glanced outside, across the marsh. The sky was now an inky blue-black, streaked with gray. The moon was pale and full, hanging directly overhead, its perfect reflection in the water broken only by the occasional ripple, its light strong enough that Sam's shadow trailed behind him on the rocky ground. "This is it, huh?"

"Yeah."

Dean frowned as he studied Sam's worried expression. "Having second thoughts?"

"No, but…" Sam opened the glove box and pulled out a thick twig, about a foot long. "Take this."

Dean scowled. "What the hell is it? A wand?"

"It's rowan wood." Sam gestured again with the wood. "As long as you hold this, the witch can't harm you."

Dean took it suspicously. "Thought she was supposed to help me."

"She is…she will." Sam looked up and his eyes were glassy. "I've gone over everything, Dean. Over and over. There's no hidden clauses, no nasty surprises – at least that I can find. But…"

Dean waved the stick. "So, I ask again, why do I need the Harry Potter prop?"

"I don't want this to be another Roy LeGrange." Sam bit his lip. "_You_ have to decide if you can trust her. If…when she shows, if anything seems hinky, you hang on to that, you yell for me and we get the hell out of here."

Dean looked out through the windshield and across the water. "Hate to state the obvious, Sammy, but we bail, I'm done. Kind of flies in the face of everything you've been doing to save my ass."

"I know." Sam looked nauseous now. "But if this isn't what it seems…then I buy the beer, find you Butch and Sundance online, and-"

"Sam." Dean waited until Sam made eye contact. "If I didn't wanna do this, you couldn't make me. I don't care how crappy I feel, I can still take down your sorry ass." He offered a tired smile as he batted Sam's shoulder. "Now get the hell outta my way and let's get this show on the road. See what happens."

Sam stood up, then reached down to help Dean out of the car.

Dean weakly shoved him away. "Gotta do it myself, right?"

"I can help you outta the damn car." Before his brother could protest again, Sam had his arms under Dean's and was hauling him to his feet.

Dean hated to admit it, even to himself, but if Sam wasn't holding onto him, he would've gone down. He closed his eyes, not fighting Sam's support as he waited for the dizziness to pass and his legs to decide they could hold him up. When they did, he slowly opened his eyes, smiled at Sam, and patted his arm. "Okay. You can let go."

"You sure?"

Dean snorted. "No. But let go anyway." Sam did. Dean swayed but stayed standing. He tightly gripped the piece of wood Sam had given him, then nodded. "I'm good"

"Wait. Don't forget this." Sam ducked back into the car, pulled out a stem of goldenrod and handed it to Dean.

Dean teetered again as he reached for it. "You better be right about this. Any date I've ever had would be seriously pissed if I showed up on her doorstep with weeds."

Sam grinned. "When was the last time you took flowers on a date?"

"Bitch." Dean turned unsteadily toward the water. "Right. Let's do this." He stumbled to the edge of the path, then began slowly slip-sliding sideways down the embankment.

Sam's voice came from behind him. "I've got you covered, Dean. I'm not going anywhere."

Dean wanted to respond but the loose rocks and sand beneath his feet were shifting constantly and it was taking all his concentration just to keep himself upright. He didn't have far to go, thirty feet maybe, most of it downhill, but it felt like thirty miles. He took another step, lost his footing when the sand shifted faster than he anticipated and crashed onto his side.

"Dean?"

"M'okay." Dean stayed there for a moment, catching his breath, before pushing himself up to his feet and sliding and stumbling his way to the water's edge. There, he collapsed to his knees in the shallows, the denim of his jeans quickly soaked and cold, but he was too damn exhausted to care.

Breathing heavily, he stared for a moment at the yellow flower in his hand, then swallowed. "Here goes nothing." He weakly tossed the flower into the water, then sank back onto his heels. He watched it float away until his vision blurred and his head fell forward, his chin dropping to his chest. Son of a bitch. He hated being this tired, this weak.

He'd thought about dying plenty of times. When he was electrocuted hunting the Rawhead and stuck in a hospital bed for three days, he'd thought of little else. When Yellow-Eyes had possessed Dad and started rearranging Dean's insides, he thought he was toast – and that was before the possessed truck driver had slammed the semi into the Impala. Nobody had been more surprised than him when he'd woken up in the hospital, choking on the ventilator with Sam yelling for help. Then a possessed Sam had shot him and he'd fallen off a Minnesota dock. He still had little recollection of how he'd gotten from the water to the boat ramp, shock, cold and blood loss stealing that memory from him, but he clearly remembered being surprised as hell to wake up shivering with a frantic Jo kneeling beside him.

When it came to death, the only thing Dean had crossed off his list of possible causes was old age. When his time came, if he had anything to say about it, he'd want it over quick and with Sam nowhere in sight. But _this_…this was the polar opposite – a torturously slow twist on bleeding to death with Sam in a front row seat.

But the truth was, if he was brutally honest, didn't want to die. He didn't want to leave Sam alone to deal with the freaky visions he'd been plagued with lately. He didn't want to leave his promise to avenge Dad's death and Mom's murder unfulfilled. He wasn't done yet. And so, he'd kneel on this beach, all night if he had to, to see if there was any truth to this crazy-ass legend Sam had dug up, to see if this witch would show up, to see if he was worth saving.

If she didn't? If he wasn't? Well, he'd cross that bridge when he had to.

The water splashed against his knees with each gentle wave that lapped at the shore. The air was heavy with salt, the silence of the marsh broken only by the buzz of insects, the rustle of the tall grasses when the wind picked up and his own harsh breathing. He may have drifted off, memories of past close calls filling his head, but woke with a start when the loud hoot of an owl echoed across the water. He looked up, wincing at the tightness in his chest, then froze at the sight in front of him.

The flower he'd tossed into the water had floated out to the middle of the marsh, carried by some unseen current into the reflection of the moon. As Dean watched, the goldenrod spun lazily and the water around it seemed to boil, bubbles breaking the surface quickly turning the navy water to silver.

In a matter of seconds, the still water of the lake was roiling furiously – but only inside the moon's reflection. And then, in the middle of the turbulent water, a woman's head breached the surface.

It was the witch.

Heart hammering against his chest, he watched as she rose from the water. She was tall, slim, and naked as the day she was born. Her hair was long and dark, her skin pale and she had full, firm breasts. His eyes widened as she kept rising, arms outstretched until she was standing on the surface of the water.

Dean's breath hitched as she took a step toward him. For a fleeting moment he could have sworn that, from the waist down, she was… a horse. He screwed his eyes closed, swallowed and looked again.

No. He was seeing things. She was walking toward him, still on the water's surface, still naked and all woman. As she walked, the marsh water rose up and swirled around her, the navy waters transforming into dark blue fabric that became a long gown, the bubbles of froth created by the turbulence turning into the silver links in the chain that encircled her waist. She stopped in front of Dean and looked down at him as the waters behind her calmed, restoring the lake's still, glassy surface.

Dean wanted to get up, meet the witch and/or his fate on his own two feet, but his legs refused to co-operate. So, he smiled. "Hey."

Her eyes were the same navy as the lake, her lips full, her skin flawless. At least one part of the legend was right – she was far from fugly.

The witch returned his smile. "You are my wounded knight?"

Her voice sent goosebumps racing down Dean's arm. "I was poisoned, not wounded, and I'm a hunter, not a knight." He winked at her. "I'm kinda hoping you're not a stickler for details."

The witch knelt beside him, the hem of her gown spreading out around her ankles and rippling as it became one with the gentle tide. "If I did not mean to help you, I would not be here."

"Oh." Dean swallowed. "Okay. Good."

Dean and the witch both turned to the side when they heard the loud click of the safety being released on a gun. Sam stood about ten feet to Dean's left, his gun pointed at the witch.

Dean frowned. "Sammy? Thought I was supposed to do this myself."

Sam kept his aim and his attention on the witch. "No. Legend says you have to meet and summon her by yourself. Says nothing about not having backup when she's doing whatever it is she does to save you."

Dean turned to the witch. "That's my brother. Was supposed to be a lawyer. Definitely a stickler for details."

The witch seemed unfazed by the gun pointed at her. "If I am to help, you must call off your protector and lay down your rowan shield. If you do not, you are unreachable to me."

Sam adjusted his grip on his gun. "Your call, Dean."

Dean stared at the witch. He considered himself a good judge of character, but how the hell did you judge the character of a witch who lived in a lake? All he had was instinct. He stared at her for a moment, studied her as she stared back at him, but he could sense nothing dark, nothing malevolent. "Put it down, Sammy."

"You sure?"

Dean turned to Sam. There would be silver bullets in his gun – silver worked on witches as well as Peuchens – but killing the witch wouldn't cure him. He'd come this far; he might as well finish the trip. "Put it down."

Sam nodded slowly, then clicked the safety on as he bent down to place the gun on the ground. While crouched, he also pulled a piece of rowan wood from his pocket, and set it beside the gun. Then he stood, his hands raised and open to show he was now unarmed.

Dean glanced down at the stick of rowan wood still in his hand, rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, then placed it beside him on the rock-littered shore.

As he looked up at the witch, she smiled. "I thank you for your trust."

She waved her hand suddenly at Sam. His eyes rolled back, he dropped to his knees and then fell forward, landing sprawled on his stomach.

"Sammy!" Anger fuelled both Dean's attempt to push himself to his feet and the glare he gave the witch. "What the hell-"

"Your brother is unharmed." The witch wrapped her fingers around Dean's arms, holding him in place. "But this healing can only be between us."

Dean's gaze was still on Sam, who wasn't moving. "Then why the hell not just ask him to leave? He could've-"

"There is no need for fear." The witch turned Dean's head toward her. "Your brother will wake with the sun and, if it be the gods will, so will you." She glanced down at the bandage on Dean's arm which covered the Peuchen bite. After gently unwrapping the bandage, she ran her fingers over the bite mark. "The poison entered here, poison that is stealing your strength…and that will soon take your life."

Dean shivered at her touch, her fingers sending what felt like a small electrical charge through his skin. "It's that last part we're kinda hoping you can do something about."

The witch ran her fingers down his face, then turned and placed her hand flat on the surface of the water. The stem of golden rod Dean had thrown into the water floated from the moon's reflection toward the witch, as if pulled by some invisible thread. She glanced over at Sam and the Impala as she waited. "Much has changed since the first knights sought my help. Once, their steeds did not have four wheels, and they had a hound and a hawk to protect them, not a giant as a squire."

"A squire?" Dean pointed at Sam. "Him? I don't know what the hell a squire is, but that's my little brother." The goldenrod floated directed into the witch's hand. Dean waited until she picked it up and looked up at him. "And if you've hurt him-"

"I see that I was mistaken." The witch smiled. "It is the knight who protects the giant."

Dean held her gaze. "I look out for Sammy, always have. But now…he looks out for me, too. I mean, you've seen the size of him, right?" He shrugged. "The company we keep, it pays to have a Sasquatch on your six."

The witch frowned. "Language has changed much, too." She took the goldenrod and wrapped it around Dean's arm, binding the wound. "But in some things, the old ways are best." Closing her hand over the bite mark, she spoke softly in a language unfamiliar to Dean.

The dizziness hit suddenly and Dean toppled sideways, right into the arms of the witch as she opened them up to catch him. His face rested against her shoulder, her skin cool and soft against his cheek. As he tilted his head to look up at her, she leaned in and kissed him, slowly and deeply. The surge of electricity that passed through him was like her touch magnified tenfold.

When she broke off the kiss, Dean blinked in shock. "Okay. Didn't see that coming."

She smiled, then bent her head and kissed him again. Dean couldn't help himself; he kissed her back, and once more felt the electric current flow through him. It felt strange lying in her arms, more like floating in water than being held by someone. He couldn't move much, couldn't break from her hold, but he felt better than he had in days. He didn't feel _sick_ anymore.

When the witch broke off the kiss, Dean raised an eyebrow. "Is this…going somewhere?"

She traced his jawline with the back of a finger. "Would you like it to?"

Dean swallowed as he looked up at her perfect features. "You know, you're way hotter than I expected…given your age and, you know… that you live underwater in an upscale swamp. And the kissing part? Total bonus compared to some of the cures I've had to choke down. But…" He glanced to where his brother lay unconscious, then reached up, grabbed the witch's wrist and squeezed. "It doesn't matter what you do for me, or to me... If Sam over there is not okay in the morning, then no magic, old or new, will protect you. I will shoot you, drown you or take your head off, whatever works, even if I have to come back as ghost to do it. We clear on that?"

The witch laughed softly. "Inside the hunter beats a knight's heart. I chose wisely." She peeled Dean's fingers from her wrist with surprising strength, then unwrapped the goldenrod from around the bite mark. After crushing the yellow petals between her fingers, she smeared the paste over the wound. "Now, you must rest."

She leaned down and kissed Dean a third time. With this kiss came more dizziness, more of the strange current buzzing through him. But this time, it fueled a tiredness he couldn't shake. He fought like hell to keep his eyes open, but as he stared up at her she blurred and faded into the darkness of the night sky. As he slipped into unconsciousness, the witch's final words spun through his head.

"Sleep well, good knight. None can harm you now."

**xxxXXXxxx**

Dean woke suddenly, blinking against the brilliant sunshine reflecting off the marsh in front of him, the water that had been navy by moonlight now a soft gray-green.

He rolled onto his back with a groan and screwed his eyes closed as the sun, high in the sky, hit him square in the face. "Son of a…" He sat up slowly and scrubbed a hand down his face as he peeled open his eyes. Blinking to find focus, his vision settled on his brother, still sprawled on the rocks to his left, still unmoving.

"Sam!" Dean scrambled to his feet and was at his brother's side before it even registered he was up and moving. "Sammy?" His mind's eye replayed Sam's fall after the witch had done…whatever it was she'd done to him. He hadn't moved since. Dean glanced around. There was no sign of the witch. He had no clue how long she'd been gone, but the sun was almost directly overhead which meant it was close to noon. Sam had been out cold for more than twelve hours – almost as long as Dean.

"What the hell did she do to you?" Dean pressed his fingers to Sam's neck, exhaling in relief when he found a strong pulse. "Sam? Come on. Naptime's over."

Sam groaned as Dean gently rolled him onto his back.

"That's it. All the way now."

Sam groaned again as his eyes slowly opened. "Dean?"

"Who else. How you feeling?"

"Like I did when we drank Bobby's moonshine." Sam covered his eyes with his hand. "That first batch that didn't turn out so good."

Dean's jaw clenched. "That bitch said you'd be fine. She-"

"Dean!" Sam's eyes snapped open and he grabbed his brother's shirt as confusion gave way to clarity. "The witch… Did she…Are you-"

"I'm fine, Sam. And she said you'd be fine, too. Said-"

"She's right." Sam sat up, using his grip on his brother's shirt to haul himself upright. He smiled. "My head's clearing now and...I'm fine. But you – you're really okay?"

"Think so." Dean started to relax now Sam was awake and moving. He took a deep breath: there was no tightness in his chest, no dizziness. He clapped Sam on the arm, then sat down beside him. "I feel…good."

Sam swallowed. "No bullshit, Dean."

"No bullshit. Looks like she fixed me." Dean pulled a face as he sniffed at his T-shirt. "Need a shower and a gallon of coffee, but otherwise-"

"Dean, the bite." Sam grabbed Dean's arm and turned it over. Where the Peuchen bite had been, the skin was unblemished. "It's like you were never bitten." He looked up at his brother. "What did she do?"

Dean ran his fingers over his arm where the bite had been. "She used that goldenrod as some kind of cure, with some kind of spell, and…" He looked up at Sam and grinned, "she kissed me."

Sam returned the grin. "Three times, right?"

Dean's grin faded. "You knew?"

Sam shrugged. "It's in the lore but, like you said, lore's just a game of telephone. I didn't know if it was real or not." He bit back a grin. "Didn't wanna disappoint you if it wasn't."

Dean snorted at that. "Well, it's real and, trust me, the lady knows how to kiss. She-" He looked out into the marsh, to where he'd first seen the witch appear. "You were still upright when she first showed, right?. What exactly did you see?"

Sam drew up his knees and wrapped his arms around them. "You mean…was she part horse?"

"You knew that, too?" Dean glared at his brother. "Damn it, Sam. How much of the freaking lore did you leave out?"

Sam snorted. "You were fighting me on meeting a witch who lived underwater. You really think adding in the part about, 'Oh, sometimes she's part horse,' was gonna strengthen my case?"

"No." Dean pulled a face. "But now I'm really feeling kind of squicky about the whole kissing thing."

Sam laughed and clapped Dean on the back. "Dude, what I saw walk out of the water was all woman, and a pretty damn hot one at that."

"And naked." Dean's gaze had drifted back to the marsh. "Don't forget naked."

"Right." Sam's voice softened. "Look, she's a witch – an ancient witch. Who knows how many forms she takes. The lore says the half-woman half-horse form is symbolic of the union between man and nature. She used nature, the goldenrod, to cure you so maybe…maybe she needed to draw from that part of her being."

"Part of her being?" Dean snorted. "Think I'll just hold on to the part where a very hot chick – a very hot _naked_ chick – laid one on me three times." He frowned over at Sam. "Man, Sammy, you really got the short end of the stick on this case. At the hospital, with doctors, you got Dr. McGrandpa, I got Cuddy. For a cure, you got that crap Ayelen mixed up, I got some epic smooches."

Sam smiled. "Don't care, Dean." He shrugged. "We're both good. That's what counts."

Dean matched his brother's grin. "Well, I'm good. You, you've got a serious case of bedhead."

Sam's smile faded as he struggled to control his emotions. "Told you she'd find you worthy."

"Yeah, well…" Dean shrugged. "Guess I'm lucky she's just got low standards."

"Dean…Never mind." Sam shook his head as he pushed himself to his feet. "Come on, we should go." He offered his arm to Dean to help him up. "You know you're supposed to be protected now."

"From what?" Dean grabbed Sam's arm and hauled himself up, his legs solid beneath him.

Sam shrugged. "From…everything. Legend says, "None can harm the knight who has lain with the Witch of the West-mere-lands."

"Lain?" Dean snorted. "I didn't get past first base so I'm not sure that applies, but I'll remind you of that little detail the next time some fugly beats the crap out of me." He inhaled deeply, then smiled as he exhaled. "But, damn, it's good to feel like me again."

Sam bent down to scoop up his gun and tuck it in the waistband of his jeans. He said nothing but he was smiling, too. He turned toward the Impala but Dean stopped him by grabbing his arm.

"You, um, hauled out the buckets of crazy for this one, but…" Dean squinted against the bright sun as he glanced out over the marsh, his face relaxing as he turned back to Sam. "Thanks."

Sam nodded, smiled, then set off for the car.

Dean fell in step beside him as they scrambled up the bank. At the top, he held out his hand expectantly.

Sam frowned. "What?"

"Keys, Sammy. You don't think I'm letting you drive us outta here after the torture you put her through on the way in, do you?"

Sam shot Dean a look. "Oh, come on. There's not a scratch on her. She's a little dirty, but-"

"Yeah, and don't think I've forgotten you owe me a carwash." Dean grabbed the keys as Sam pulled them from his pocket. He pulled open the Impala's door, smiling at the familiar groan of her hinges, and slid behind the wheel. "Hey baby. Everything's back the way it should be – for today anyway."

"Whatever." Sam pulled open the passenger door and leaned in to grin at his brother. "But don't forget to move the seat forward."

"Bitch." Dean turned the key in the ignition, his smile returning as the Impala growled to life. "Come on. Let's go find a pancake house. I'm starving."

Sam's grin faded as he climbed into his seat. "I'd feel better if we swung by a clinic first, got them to run a blood test just to make sure that-"

"No." Dean's voice softened when he caught the worry in Sam's expression. "I know how I felt, Sammy, and I know how I feel. I'm good." He nodded as he slipped the car into gear. "I'll get a blood test later. First, I need food." He did a three-point turn on the narrow strip of land to turn the Impala around. "What are you gonna have, huh? We're celebrating, so anything you want."

Sam's eyebrow peaked. "Anything?"

"Yup." Dean grinned. "Cause you're buying."

**Finis**

**A/N:** _The Witch of the West-Mere-Lands (or Westmoreland as it is sometimes called) is a legend told in a folk song written by Archie Fisher and sung by a variety of artists from Stan Rogers to Barbara Dickson. The lyrics appear below for anyone interested. I loved the story this song told and thought it offered a really interesting way to explore Dean's self-worth issues. I played with the legend a little bit but the witch does show up naked until the waters 'dress' her and, yes, she kisses the knight three times to heal him. Trust Dean to need a cure than involves a hot, naked woman and kissing. __ *g* Is Sam an awesome brother, or what? Hope you enjoyed. If you have a moment, I'd love to hear what you think. Until next time, cheers!_

**The ****Witch of the West-Mere-Lands**

_c. 1976 Archie Fisher  
>Ard-Ri Music, Dublin<em>

Pale was the wounded knight that bore the rowan shield  
>Loud and cruel were the raven's cries that feasted on the field<br>Saying "Beck water cold and clear will never clean your wound  
>There's none but the witch of the West-mere-lands can make thee hale and soond"<p>

So turn, turn your stallion's head till his red mane flies in the wind  
>And the rider of the moon goes by and the bright star falls behind<br>And clear was the paley moon when his shadow passed him by  
>Below the hills were the brightest stars when he heard the owlet cry<p>

Saying "Why do you ride this way, and wherefore came you here?"  
>"I seek the Witch of the West-mere-lands that dwells by the Winding Mere"<br>"Then fly free your good grey hawk to gather the goldenrod,  
>And face your horse intae the clouds above yon gay green wood."<p>

And it's weary by the Ullswater and the misty brake fern way  
>Till through the cleft in the Kirkstane Pass the winding water lay<br>He said "Lie down my brindled hound, and rest ye my good gray hawk  
>And thee my steed may graze thy fill for I must dismount and walk<p>

But come when you hear my horn and answer swift the call  
>For I fear ere the sun will rise this morn ye will serve me best of all"<br>And it's down to the water's brim he's borne the rowan shield  
>And the goldenrod he has cast in to see what the lake might yield<p>

And wet rose she from the lake and fast and fleet went she  
>One half the form of a maiden fair with a jet-black mare's body<br>And loud, long and shrill he blew till his steed was by his side  
>High overhead the grey hawk flew and swiftly he did ride<p>

Saying "Course well, my brindled hound, and fetch me the jet black mare  
>Stoop and strike, my good grey hawk, and bring me the maiden fair"<br>She said "Pray, sheathe thy silvery sword, lay down thy rowan shield  
>For I see by the briny blood that flows you've been wounded in the field."<p>

And she stood in a gown of the velvet blue, bound round with a silver chain  
>And she's kissed his pale lips once and twice, and three times round again<br>And she's bound his wound with the goldenrod, full fast in her arms he lay  
>And he has risen hale and soond with the sun high in the day<p>

She said "Ride with your brindled hound at heel and your good grey hawk in hand  
>There's none can harm the knight who's lain with the Witch of the West-mere-lands "<p> 


End file.
